11 June 2018 Red Dog

Nope. A crimson canine does not feature in this week’s poem – perhaps a like-kind spirit, but definitely not one that drools or barks. The featured critter dwells in the Beltrami Forest (and elsewhere), punches out great impact in proportion to its size, and in several ways resembles a fighter jet. Got it yet? No worries, if not. Read on – just for the fun of it. Oh, and apologizes for any perceived anthropomorphizing; I happen to believe that non-human creatures share the value that humans do.

RED DOG

(Or The Hummer at My Window)

Each evening at dusk, a ruby-throated humming bird flitters outside my bedroom window

His shining scarlet neck and breast signify his male gender and his attitude about himself

With assurance, he perches on the peak of a charred and pointy stump and surveys his piney realm

            for he is both lord and protector of the red-trimmed feeder filled with sugar water

This tiny royal, ungenerous as any potentate, guards his treasured, liquid cache

With long-beaked sword and dogfight sorties against would-be usurpers

who scatter before his wrath as he spirals between stump and sup

wings whirring, blurring, voice buzzing with menace

Even the tiny feathers of ocean green patina sheathe him like a regal robe

His emerald shoulders fluff and shrug followed by a shiver down his delicate spine

            Ending at the tail, spread and quivering

Two reckless females bare of scarlet plumage arrive to drink the sparkling brew

but before their beaks can dip, the master flyer zooms straight up, scatters them

without a drop of succulence gracing their rapier-thin beaks

The girls return over and over bidding to imbibe the nectar undulating in the breeze

and at each approach Red Baron-like the ruby-breasted ace pilot maneuvers

scolding the intruders, but either hunger or stupidity bring them back time after time

never failing to behold their missions thwarted, their bellies against their spines

As I write, Red Dog settles, stilling on his pointy perch, perhaps exhausted 

from his mighty forays against mere females’ incursions – he wishes for a worthier foe

I call him Red Dog for his canine persistence hour after hour as sunlight wanes

and twilight pulls a blanket over Forest hips and breast

Ah! They return and from the fire-blackened stump Red Dog lunges straight up from below 

like a Harrier built for vertical flight and skirmish

In moments the two ladies take their leave once again and the ruler returns to his turret

Red Dog remains at his post, ever watchful, foregoing food and flight in favor of vigilance

            An F-15 ready to launch from the flight deck, and when the two return he jets off ferocious

            tattering their unvetted strategy again from below – a failsafe tactic against all foes

Once more lights atop the pinnacle, a hangered Tomahawk awaiting the clash of combat

or in this own bird-brained way remembering the day coming now in this ruddy spring

where guarding eggs and miniscule hummers transform his warrior ways

Then ceases the battle clacks and chatter

as the females play their part in life and death, the greatest matters

Background:

Today’s poem arises from deep within Beltrami Island State Forest, where my husband, Joe and I, and our faithful German Shepherd, Willa, live in the privilege of nature as few people on the planet have. Not much to say really, except I’ve attempted to share just one of the many companion creatures that share our space. Naturally, we offer the sweet enticement of several feeders around the cabin, hoping to stave off tiny fights by proffering enough for all; however, that doesn’t seem to matter. Like us, these diminutive feathered friends appear to suffer from the same perspective shared by many humans: I can never have enough, and the pie can’t feed us all.

Note on the last two lines of the poem:

Female hummingbirds do all the nest building, incubating, and caring for the tiny hatchlings. A male has only one contribution to the next generation as he mates with any females that he can attract to his territory. These are not birds of the Romeo and Juliet persuasion.

A piece of trivia: Hummingbirds beat their wings at the rate of 80 times per second.

Explorations:

Exploration #1: Can we learn anything from Red Dog?

Exploration #2: A definite contrast is portrayed between the genders. Does this strike you as misogynistic? 

Exploration #3: If you could have a conversation with Red Dog, what subjects would you prefer to discuss?

Exploration #4: One word within the poem references (sort of) something Joe McDonnell would appreciate. Can you find that word?

Jack Pine Savage